


Rusalka

by Val_Creative



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Black Smoak, Drinking, F/F, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nudity, Smoaking Canary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I really did die on that shipwreck."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rusalka

 

*

 

Never invite strangers in while alone in your shitty apartment. While it was a good rule of thumb, Felicity supposed they weren't _totally_ strangers now.

… Even if it was Oliver's ex-dead, ex-girlfriend slash rogue assassin.

Whatever Canary been doing in Starling City's streets after dark… _honestly_ , Felicity didn't need or want to know the details. There was just a mess, besides the puddles of rainwater from the outside storm where Canary left her over-sized jacket on the kitten-face printed rug. And shed her gloves. And left her… bo-staff? Was that it?

Felicity knew she was going to need to break out the heavy duty cleaning supplies for… whatever _shedidntwanttothinkaboutit…_ now drying in the grout of her floor-tiles.

(Call her an extra good Samaritan to the heroing community, but she couldn't exactly turn her away. If Sara needed help.)

And there was just… something (helpless? _drowning_?) about those blue eyes, clearer and brighter than ever in the smoky edges of her makeup. Oh frick, not that… Felicity was obsessing about Sara's eyes. They were _eyes_. Really gorgeous eyes, yeah, sure. But eyes weren't _sexy_ , like that was majorly gross— _aaand_ , she needed to stop thought-monologuing.

 

 

*

 

The apartment had a single and now occupied bathroom. Her brochure had lied about it being an ultra deluxe.

It had been stone quiet since Felicity heard the inside faucets turn off.

She marched over, nearly tripping on the length of her yellow-polka dotted pajama pants, and gulped in a breath for courage. Felicity grabbed for the door handle, metal cold.

Oh right, _knocking_. Knocking was polite.

"Hey, um—everything okay in there?" Felicity's knuckles pressed down on the mud-dark painted wood, still feeling the resonance. "Door's unlocked," she said a bit more loudly. "So, I'm assuming you're not using the toilet… or walking around naked…" She winced, twisting the curved handle and muttering to herself, "Please don't be walking around naked…"

The bathroom door squeaked open, coming in honorary second place to the noisiness of Felicity's heartbeat in her own chest.

No one stood by the toilet or by the sink. In fact, it looked like no one was _here_.

(Canary didn't leave… did she? Not without her things.)

But Felicity did notice some of her aromatic candles, wicks slowly burning, and one of her bath towels laid out. She stifled a gasp into both of her hands when peering into her tub, eyes blowing up wide behind her glasses. Sara was laid out on her back, unmoving and submerged in the water. No little bubbles of air escaping. No clothes anywhere either.

In the back of her mind, Felicity was screaming at herself to reach in, _pull_ her out.

This was… surreal. Haunting.

How blonde hair darkened and fanned out in the water. How pale and translucently eerie Sara looked in the bulb-florescent lighting. A beautiful corpse floating. Felicity lurched forward, instead of going for the living room for a phone or even for Oliver, hands impossibly tight to the tub's lip.

" …Canary?" she whispered, mouth dry. "Sara?"

Felicity jumped in place as Sara's eyes flew open, clear water blue and mesmerizing.

Carefully, and silently, the other woman sat up, trickles of bathwater running down her hairline and her shoulders. Expression blank.

No, not that. _Open_. Searching.

Sara's fingers crawled up, gripping loosely to the tub's lip as well. Felicity glanced down at them, and then her calm face. Sara's wet, soft-looking mouth lifting into an odd smile.

… Oh god, she was totally naked.

"Uhhohh," Felicity whispered again, shielding her view with one palm and looking away, face turning red, "I'm _really_ sorry, I should have knocked. Well, I did knock but I, uh, I should have waited. The last time I saw a girl naked was that eighth grade slumber party and they only invited me to play tricks on me the entire time," she babbled.

"Holy shit, you're really cold," Felicity squeaked out next, feeling Sara's damp, wrinkled fingers hover over hers. Her mom would have smacked her for cursing.

" _Powinniśmy tańczyć_ …"

Felicity's palm lowered from her eyes.

(What just—?)

Her voice had sounded hoarse, like it had been previously clogged with water. "Okay, now I know that's not English," Felicity said, eyeing Sara's expression and cheeks still red. "Obviously you're not okay, but are you _okay_? And please, please _please_ help me out here because I'm only fluent in high school German."

A humming sound, faintly resembling a song, came from the other woman's throat as Sara leaned in, wrapping her arms suddenly to Felicity's midsection.

"… I'm fine," she murmured, eyes and dark, long eyelashes closing. "It's safe."

Felicity's entire body felt like a surge of low-building electricity had gone through it, restraining her in place though she knew she could step away. Her mouth _dry_.

"It's safe with you."

"Okay, you're a hugger…" Felicity said, voice small. Her pajama top began to cling with water to where muscular, thin arms held on. "I didn't know assassins were huggers."

A gentle head-shake against her ribcage. "That's not who I am anymore," came a smaller voice. Even trying to do her best to not physically touch her, Felicity could not keep her limbs arched in midair for the next few hours. "I sometimes don't know." A nose rubbing to Felicity's abdomen. "I think I really did die on that shipwreck."

" _No_ , you didn't," Felicity said, frowning down at her. "I get that I don't have a clue about what it feels like, to have gone through what you and Oliver did. But you're _here_."

She beamed that optimism, as the other woman gazed up, slightly awed.

(Alright, naked bath-time aside… this was _okay_.)

"That has to be a good sign, right?"

A dripping, cold hand squeezed Felicity's back, kindly. "Right," Sara murmured back.

 

 

*

 

They had a lot more in common than Felicity initially thought. Classical music over opera, faux-fur over real fur. Garlic, non-nut hummus over salsa.

(However, she thought maybe Sara was being more sympathetic than anything when Felicity mentioned her severe allergy.)

"What's it like?" Felicity asked, a show of casual interest with her socked feet draping the coffee table. "Kicking ass in heels?"

A quiet, huffing laugh. "Not that difficult to master, believe it or not."

" _Liess_ ," Felicity's hiss came out exaggeratedly, her grinning and it was worth the eye-roll. And tipping over the drained glasses of white wine during the pillow-throwing.

 

 

*

 

It would feel a lot weirder to be drunk. Felicity was pretty sure she wasn't drunk.

(… But didn't everyone say that when they were _actually_ drunk?)

Her mouth wasn't dry anymore, and it filled with the taste of someone else—with rainwater and the inside warmth of Sara's mouth, as their bodies lined up on the couch, nudging.

" _Powinniśmy tańczyć_ …" murmured, slipping between their lips, as a pair of teeth clamp to Felicity's lower lip. Their hands pinned back. " _Forever_."

 

 

*

 

The rainstorm ended when the first touches of sunlight crept over the skyscrapers.

Felicity groaned a little upon waking on her couch, feeling good, but feeling like shit. Upon inspection, her bathroom candles were unlit, wicks solid. Her tile grout clean.

Canary's outfit and gear missing, including the owner.

She was lightheaded pacing her shitty, little apartment, hands trembling. Felicity's rumpled, cotton pajama top still felt wet against her.

And her lip still stung, tasting like old blood.

 

 

  
*

**Author's Note:**

> I thought Sarah Lance would fit the AU idea of a rusalka very appropriately. A rusalka being a "lake-dwelling" spirit. Traditionally, it's a female undead spirit that haunts because of tragic circumstances. Like a drowning or a suicide. They also fall under nymph category, too. The rusalka are not always malicious by nature. They usually come out at night and seek out humans, to play with them or sometimes to love them, or to lead the humans to their death. 
> 
> "Powinniśmy tańczyć": We should dance (Polish)


End file.
